Fresh Cut Grass

Every time I see you, you're more red and in the West I’m always anxious, you don’t seem to know the word exists It comes and goes, you always know, what’s lost will be replaced Here, I ruminate on mistakes I failed to anticipate I’m reading books again, sometimes a line sticks in my head It’s like the author somehow has the whole human race pegged I never guess the ending, so it's always a surprise You’ll whisper in the cinema, and you’ll always be right The route vale translates to farewell, so long, and goodbye The origin of valium is Latin for goodnight I want to know the tiniest of little trivial things You’re more of a big-picture guy, that’s how you sleep at night You smell like home, or something like it, not that I would know I’m no romantic, I’m aware it’s only pheromones Absinthe in the Pipe and Slippers, I called it a date You always look offended when I call a spade a spade You pick your words like shells you choose to take home from the beach Pretty and unusual, abandoned, and empty I heard what I wanted to in that ambiguity Translating my own language, perfectly imperfectly A shift, so imperceptible, but certain as the dawn Unexpectedly as if beneath the moon I mowed the lawn You called me crazy, we can't always be on the same page We’re not reading the same book, I looked and saw that things had changed Fresh-cut grass, these things don't last, and sometimes that’s okay